


Wolf Games

by Qayin



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Derek is Katniss, M/M, Stiles is Peeta, basically hunger games, but with Sterek - Freeform, the teen wolf/hunger games crossover no one asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qayin/pseuds/Qayin
Summary: "Now, for you, Derek, I think your appearance is your best strategy,” Lydia said. Derek furrowed his eyebrows.“Um, what?” he asked.“You’re attractive,” Lydia said and rolled her eyes. Besides him, Stiles put the not-strawberry in his throat and started coughing. “Give the cameras wide smiles, talk about love, let the audience imagine that you could love them — the men and women of the capitol will eat you up.”Derek fought the blush on his face. “I don’t know —”“It could work,” said Stiles who had just regained his breath. Derek gave him an awestruck look and Stiles avoided his gaze. “You could talk about how much you love your family — and how you volunteered for Cora.”“That’s an excellent idea,” Lydia said appreciatively and wrote down Cora in big letters on Derek’s page. “The capitol loves a sob-story.”“What should my strategy be?” Stiles asked. Lydia glanced up from her paper and gave him a critical look.“Well, unfortunately, you don’t look like -” and here she gestured to Derek’s body. Great. He didn’t feel objectified at all. He saw Stiles grimace.“Yeah, thanks, I know,” he said sharply.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 11
Kudos: 116





	Wolf Games

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, no one asked for this, but I wrote it anyway. Just for the sake of this, two tributes are needed, but they don't have to be the opposite gender.

_“No!”_

The scream rose Derek from his bed before his brain was even awake. He ran out of his room just in time to see Laura rush into Cora’s bedroom and wrap her arms around their screaming little sister. Derek slowed down, stopped by the door. 

Cora was weeping and Laura hushed her gently. A lump in Derek’s chest threatened to tear through him, but he swallowed it down and just watched his sisters. This was his last reaping, but Cora had several years ahead of her. The relief Derek felt for himself made him feel guilty when Cora screamed herself awake almost every day the last two weeks. The nightmare wasn’t over, Derek was just soon too old to personally be affected by it. 

“It’s okay,” Laura whispered in Cora’s hair, but it wasn’t. It was a lie everyone told themselves so they didn’t go insane. Laura looked up at him and gave him a small, pained smile. Derek nodded and left his sisters to it. 

He needed to hunt before the reaping anyway. 

* * *

Derek only felt alive in the woods. His family had an old story, passed down through generations, that spoke of the Hales running along the moonlight, howling like wolves. The woods had been theirs, once, and everything in it theirs to hunt. 

Nowadays, of course, the woods were off-limits, but the fence was hardly ever electrified even though it was supposed to be, and it was easy for Derek to slip through a broken part of the fence and go out. 

There was peace in the woods. It wasn’t quiet, because all kind of birds, animals and insects kept the world buzzing, but Derek was alone there and he loved it. There were no people to talk to, no expectations, just Derek and his bow. 

Sometimes he entertained the notion of escaping into them, never to return to district 12. He could live of fresh game, and what the forest provided. But he couldn’t leave his family, and he couldn’t bring them either. Laura living her life in the woods? Yeah, Derek didn’t think so. 

Derek started making his two-hour track around, checking the snares he’d placed before and just allowed the fantasy to run its course. He’d soon be back in the real world again, and then these little dreams brought him comfort. He needed comfort for today’s reaping. 

* * *

Once Derek had emptied and reset his snares, he went to sell his catch in the market. The place was filled already, but there was like a grim cloud over everyone. Reapings had that effect on people. 

Derek got coin for his catch, then spent a few minutes browsing different stalls. He picked up a bronze pin — some kind of bird, if he had to guess — and thought of Cora. 

“What is it?” Derek asked the vendor. She peered sceptically at it. 

“It’s a mocking jay.” 

“How much?” Derek asked and looked up at her. The old lady looked him over sadly and shook her head. 

“You keep it,” she said melancholically. “It’s yours.” 

Derek knew she was pitying him, thinking ‘poor kid having to stand in front of the reaping today’, but her pity didn’t anger him. He was sure that had he been in her position, he would have felt the same. After today, he _would_ be in her position; safe while the youngsters gave their lives for a damned show. 

“Thank you,” Derek said and pocketed the pin. He’d give it to Cora, say it would protect her. It was a moot point, of course, but presents always brightened Cora’s mood. 

* * *

In the square before the reaping, the kids usually sorted each other by age, which meant that Derek was far in the back, while Cora was somewhere in the middle. The pin had done wonders, for a while, and Cora had pinned it to her blouse, but before they separated Derek had seen the anxiety flare in her eyes once again. Derek had tried to smile at her, but unfortunately, it most likely came out as a grimace. 

It wasn’t like her name would get pulled, anyway. Not Cora’s. It couldn’t be Cora. 

On the stage, a capitol woman with burning red hair and a restricting dress came forth and tapped the microphone. It had been the same woman the last two years, and Derek was pretty certain her name was Lydia or something like that. She looked crazy next to the dour clothes of district 12, but it appeared as if she didn’t care. 

“Welcome,” she said sharply and with great flourish, “to the 74th _Wolf Games;_ and may the odds be ever in your favour.” 

No one responded. If someone had dropped a pin the sound would have echoed across the plaza. Lydia smiled pleasantly. “Before we begin, we have a special film brought from the capitol.” 

On-screen images of strife, war and death started playing. President Gerard Argent’s voice narrated. Derek mostly spaced out. The video was the same every year; treason, sacrifices, tributes, the _Wolf Games_. Games that never were in your favour. 

Lydia turned to face the plaza once the video was over. Her smile was as artificial as her hair. “Now, the time has come to select two courageous young people for the honour of representing District 12 in the 74th annual _Wolf Games_.”

In her tight dress, she practically had to waddle to reach the bowl of names. She gave the crowd a smile like the whole thing was very exciting. Derek felt the tension as her manicured hand reached down and picked forth a name. 

She unfolded the note and frowned down at it. 

“Mi- Miecy — Stilinski?” Lydia looked up over the crowd. “Stilinski? Where are you, dear?” 

Derek saw the kid in question, a few rows in front of him, look back in panic. To his father, Derek realized, who stood right behind the potential tributes, and almost exactly behind Derek. Derek looked away, didn’t want to see the pain and anguish. 

The kid walked towards the podium in what looked like a daze. Derek pitied him, especially when Lydia started trying to coax him into small talk. 

“How do you pronounce your first name?” Lydia said with a laugh. 

“People call me Stiles,” the kid said, breathlessly. Lydia smiled. 

“Well, Stiles,” she said. “This is just so exciting.” 

When Stiles didn’t reply, Lydia turned her attention back to the crowd again. “And now for our second tribute!” 

She reached down. Next to her Stiles watched the bowl as if he was struggling very hard not to attack it. Derek didn’t know why, but he liked Stiles at that moment. Lydia pulled out a second name and opened it up. 

“Cora Hale!” she said. 

Derek’s heart stopped. Frantically his eyes searched out Cora, who stood frozen in place. 

“Come on, Cora, up to the stage,” Lydia urged cheerfully. Derek saw Cora slowly, jerkily, begin to walk. 

His legs started moving before he knew what happened. 

“No, Cora!” he screamed, and suddenly several guards appeared to stop him. “ _Cora_!” 

Cora looked back at him. His baby sister. She was crying. 

“I volunteer!” Derek screamed. “I volunteer as tribute!”

“I believe we have a volunteer,” Lydia said. Had Derek had his wits about him, he would have heard the surprise in her voice, but as it was he just pushed himself past the guards and grabbed Cora by the arms. 

“You need to get out of here!” he said and started pushing her towards the crowd, towards anyone who would keep her safe. 

“No!” Cora gasped. 

“Go find Laura and mom,” Derek ordered. 

“No!” Cora screamed and clung to him. 

“Find mom!” Derek ordered, then Jennifer Blake appeared from the crowd and grabbed Cora to guide her away. Derek felt an overwhelming sense of gratefulness for her at that moment. 

He heard Cora cry as he turned towards the stage, but he felt like he was going into shock. He walked over and stepped up on the podium. 

“District 12’s very first volunteer!” Lydia shouted for the crowd. “What’s your name?” 

“Derek Hale,” Derek said stiffly. He stared out over the heads of all these people, people he had known his entire life. People that would live, while Derek would die. 

“Well, I bet my hat that was your sister, wasn’t it?” Lydia asked cheerfully. 

“Yes.” 

“Let's have a big hand for our very first volunteer, Derek Hale.” Lydia clapped, but no one joined in. Instead, the crowd slowly raised their hands. In tribute. In respect. 

Derek swallowed. Lydia seemed shaken but quickly recovered.

“Here we are,” she said cheerfully. “Our tributes from District 12. Well, come on you two, shake hands.” 

Derek turned to face Stiles, who looked paler than paper. They shook hands. Stiles’ hands were clammy, but then again, so were probably Derek’s. 

“Happy Wolf Games!” Lydia said into the microphone. “And may the odds be ever in your favour.” 

After that, Derek and Stiles got ushered back behind the stage. Derek got tossed into a room where he got three minutes with his family to say goodbye. Laura, Cora and Talia hugged him and cried. Cora refused to let him go. 

“Just try to win,” she whispered against him. Derek struggled with the lump in his throat, but nodded. 

“Maybe I can, I can hunt.” 

Cora pulled away, then tore the Mockingjay pin off her and thrust into Derek’s hand. 

“To protect you.” 

Derek didn’t say how it hadn’t protected Cora from getting her name pulled in the reaping. He just took it like it was the most sacred talisman in the world. 

“Thank you,” he said. He found that he actually meant it. 

The guards appeared again and pulled his family out of the room, and then Jennifer Blake got shown in. She hugged Derek tightly. Derek tried to make her feel how grateful he was for her before when she had taken Cora. 

“You are stronger than they are,” Jennifer said, but it felt like a lie. There was a reason district 12 only had roared home 1 victor in the last 50 years. There were always stronger people in the games. “All they want is a show. You know how to hunt.” 

“Animals,” said Derek. Jennifer pulled away and looked at him with wide, brown eyes. 

“There’s no difference, Derek,” she said.

“There’s twenty-four of us, Jennifer, and only one comes out.” 

“Yes, and it’s gonna be you,” Jennifer said certainly. A guard appeared in the room. Apparently, Jennifer’s time was up. 

“Please try and take care of them, Jennifer,” Derek asked. “Don’t let them starve.” 

Jennifer worked at the bakery. Maybe it was cruel to ask, but bread like that would be something when Derek’s hunt disappeared. 

“I’ll see you soon, okay?” said Jennifer and smiled. Derek almost allowed himself to believe it. 

* * *

“Two hundred miles per hour and you can barely feel a thing,” Lydia said as she sat down opposite them by the table. She was talking about the train, and even though Derek didn’t feel like he was dying, he definitely felt something as it rushed forth. 

“Please, enjoy yourselves,” Lydia said and gestured to all the food. Fruits Derek had never seen, beverages of artificial colours. Stiles hesitantly reached out and took something that definitely wasn’t a strawberry, but was the closest Derek could describe it. 

“Isn’t our mentor supposed to be here?” Stiles asked. Lydia’s face twitched in frustration. Stiles glanced at Derek. “He’s your uncle, right?” 

Derek nodded mutely. Stiles stared at him like he expected more. “Well, is he going to be able to help us?” 

Derek wasn’t sure how to answer that one. Peter was definitely dangerous. And drunk. His family barely saw him. Talia had once said that the games destroyed Peter’s mind, and Derek was inclined to believe her. 

But before he had the chance to say so, Peter burst in through the door and wobbled over to the bar. Derek watched as Stiles turned to Peter and observed him critically like he too now could see all of Peter’s flaws. 

“So, when do we start?” Stiles asked. Peter glanced over his shoulder, confirmed that Stiles was indeed talking to him, and frowned. 

“Woah, you’re so eager. Most of you aren’t in such a hurry.” Peter said, poured himself a drink and walked over to sit next to Lydia. Lydia scoffed and glared at him, but Peter didn’t seem to notice. 

“Yeah, well, I wanna know what the plan is. You’re our mentor, you’re supposed to -” 

“Mentor?” Peter scoffed and sipped his drink. Stiles glared at him. 

“Yeah, our mentor,” he said. “You’re supposed to tell us how to get sponsors and give us advice.” 

Peter looked at him, then glanced at Derek. There was a flash of something, but it disappeared quicker than Derek had the time to categorize it. 

“Okay, embrace the probability of your imminent death,” Peter said slowly. “And know, in your heart, that there’s nothing I can do to save you.” 

“Peter, Dear, why don’t you take the bottle with you and leave?” Lydia said, then pulled forth a large notebook. Peter hissed at her but didn’t leave. “Your best chance to get sponsors is to be memorable.” 

Both Stiles and Derek looked at Lydia as she opened the notebook. It was filled with all kind of things, but on the first page, Derek’s own name was written at the top. 

“Now, there are 24 tributes, so you will get a very short amount of time to make the audience like you. You need to be efficient, straight to the point. The audience needs to know who you are, and they need to care if you live or die.” 

“What they need is a weapon and a good aim,” Peter drawled. Lydia tilted her head to the side and glared at him. 

“Well, maybe if you’re filled with homicidal rage like Peter,” she said slowly, then looked at Derek and Stiles with telling eyes. “But if you’re not, you’re going to need a strategy.” 

“Okay, now, I’m the mentor,” Peter said and shotted his drink. “Not you.” 

“And yet, over the last two years, the only thing you have mentored is your hangover,” Lydia snapped at him. “I’m sick and tired of going out to a district that no one cares about because their only victor is a violent drunk. And besides, _image_ is what I do.” 

Lydia smiled coolly and Derek felt intimidated by her. Besides the ridiculous clothes and hairdo, apparently, there was a sharp intellect underneath all of that. 

“A sponsorship might keep them alive a day or two, but in the end, it comes down to taking out as many as you can before they get to you,” Peter said darkly. 

“And wouldn’t you love to believe that,” said Lydia and shook her head. She turned her attention to Stiles and Derek and watched them levelly. “Truth is, if the games were all about brawn like Peter says, we wouldn’t have victors like Danny Mahealani, Mason Hewitt — or Meredith Walker. 

“Now, for you, Derek, I think your appearance is your best strategy,” Lydia said. Derek furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Um, what?” he asked. 

“You’re attractive,” Lydia said and rolled her eyes. Besides him, Stiles put the not-strawberry in his throat and started coughing. “Give the cameras wide smiles, talk about love, let the audience imagine that you could love them — the men and women of the capitol will eat you up.” 

Derek fought the blush on his face. “I don’t know —” 

If he could do that. If he cared about love. If he could convince people that he wanted to love _them_. 

“It could work,” said Stiles who had just regained his breath. Derek gave him an awestruck look and Stiles avoided his gaze. “You could talk about how much you love your family — and how you volunteered for Cora.” 

“That’s an excellent idea,” Lydia said appreciatively and wrote down Cora in big letters on Derek’s page. “The capitol loves a sob-story.” 

“What should my strategy be?” Stiles asked. Lydia glanced up from her paper and gave him a critical look. 

“Well, unfortunately, you don’t look like -” and here she gestured to Derek’s body. Great. He didn’t feel objectified at all. He saw Stiles grimace. 

“Yeah, thanks, I know,” he said sharply. Lydia sighed. 

“Well, do you have any… skills? Traits? A sad story?” Lydia asked. 

“You could talk about your mother,” Derek said. Stiles blinked at him, his eyes wide, then his face hardened. 

“No,” Stiles said. 

“What about his mother?” Lydia demanded. Derek squirmed under the glare but faced Lydia anyway. 

“Um, she died a few years ago.” 

“Excellent,” Lydia said and flipped to another page to write dead mother. 

“I’m not talking about my mom,” Stiles snapped. Lydia slowly lowered her pen. 

“Well, you need something,” she said. 

“So I’ll think of something,” Stiles said. “Something better. But I’m not talking about my mom.” 

Lydia sighed like _‘it’s your funeral.’_ Unfortunately, she was right, and everyone knew it. 

The lessons about how to be likeable continued for the next day, with only mild input from Peter about how to find shelter or actually stay alive. 

Derek felt so nervous he could barely eat. He didn’t make friends easily, and now his life depended on being so likeable that people would give _money_ for him. In District 12 you never gave up money unless it was absolutely necessary. Derek couldn’t even imagine how anyone would consider his survival necessary. 

“When you’re in the middle of the games, and you’re starving or freezing, some water, a knife or even some matches can mean the difference between life and death.” said Lydia for what felt like the hundredth time. “Those come from sponsors, and to get sponsors, you have to make people like you.” 

Then the train came out from the tunnel, and Derek would see the capitol for the first time. 

“It’s huge!” Stiles said and rose to press himself against the window. “It’s incredible.” 

Incredible wasn’t the word Derek would have used. The train slowed down, and all of a sudden there were people on the other side, waving and shouting. Derek saw as Stiles grinned brightly, and a little taken-aback, and waved at them. It only made the crowd wilder, so Stiles glanced back at Derek and gestured for him to come over. 

“Come on!” he said, then turned back to the window. Peter, who had said very little, buttered his toast with marmalade, then held out the knife to Derek. 

“You better take this,” Peter said and nodded towards Stiles. “He knows what he’s doing.”

* * *

The time in the capitol was a blur to Derek. First, he got hosed down, then he met with his stylist, a blonde man who wore a scarf even though it wasn’t nearly cold enough to wear one. 

“That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, for your sister.” the stylish said and shook his hand. “My name is Isaac Lahey.” 

“Derek,” said Derek. 

“I’m sorry that this happened to you, and I’m here to help you in any way I can,” said Isaac and sat down. This was the first time since he’d left district 12 that someone didn’t treat this as an amazing opportunity for him. It made Derek like Isaac immediately. 

“Most people just congratulate me,” he said. 

“Well, I don’t see the point in that,” said Isaac. “So tonight they have the parade, they’re gonna take you out and show you off to the world.” 

Derek thought about what Lydia had said, about making people like him. About the short window of time he had to ensure people cared about Derek Hale. 

“So you’re gonna make me look pretty?” he joked. According to Lydia he already had that going for him, so why not lean into it?

“I’m here to help you make an impression,” Isaac said and smiled faintly. “Now, usually they dress people in the clothes from their districts, but I don’t want to do that. I wanna do something they’re gonna remember. I just think somebody that brave shouldn’t be dressed up in some stupid costume, should they?” 

“I guess not,” Derek said. Isaac smiled and petted his shoulder. 

From there, Derek rejoined Stiles. People were buzzing around them, helping them get dressed, putting on make-up on them. Derek felt ridiculous. He could put on his own clothes. It became somewhat worse because Stiles seemed to enjoy it. He was cracking jokes to the make-up artisté and didn’t even flinch when they smeared mascara on his eyelashes. 

_“He knows what he’s doing,”_ Peter’s voice echoed in Derek’s head. Derek observed Stiles and realized that yes, his uncle was right. Stiles was good at making people like him. The thought made him sad, because Stiles was most likely going to die. The Careers’ from 1 and 2 usually won. They were trained and always volunteered. They were confident and lethal. Stiles was likeable, but not lethal. 

But he was the sheriff's son, so maybe Derek would be proven wrong. Maybe Stiles was better equipped for this than Derek thought. 

Once their make-up, hair and outfits were in order, Stiles and Derek got placed onto a chariot and placed last in the parade. There was already a roar from a crowd, and loud speakers booming out commentary, but Derek could barely hear it. 

He just stood on the chariot and tried not to fall down. Especially when suddenly his clothes caught fire. 

Derek panicked, but then Stiles held onto him, and Derek realized that the flames didn’t actually burn his skin. They were decorative, Derek realized. 

He looked at Stiles, who looked calm and reassuring. Stiles smiled, then raised their hands into the air. The roar became deafening. 

He knows what he’s doing, indeed. 

* * *

They stood together and listened to the introduction. Talk about survival, how many per cent die from natural causes, how many that die from infection, how many that die from dehydration. Stiles’ didn’t take his eyes off the instructor the entire time, and Derek could barely focus at all. 

“Can you still shoot?” Peter asked Derek that night over dinner. It was one of the few times Peter had acknowledged that they were kin, and for some reason, it made Derek flush. 

“I’m alright,” he said shyly. 

“He’s better than alright,” Stiles said. “My father says he hits squirrels right in the eye every time.” 

To not destroy the fur. Derek used to take a lot of pride in that. He shrugged like he barely remembered that life any more. A squirrel and a human were not the same, no matter what Jennifer Blake said. 

“Stiles is fast,” Derek said. Stiles laughed, startled, like he couldn’t believe Derek knew that about him. 

“What?” he asked. 

“He can outrun just about anyone,” Derek said. “I’ve seen it.” 

Stiles grimaced and glared down in his plate of food. “Well, I’m not gonna kill anybody from running from them.” 

“No, but you could outrun someone, and maybe someone else kills them for you. And you’re smart, so you could set traps, and maybe you could win -” 

“I have no chance of winning!” Stiles snapped and glared at him. “None, alright? Everyone knows it!” 

Here Stiles gestured to Peter and Lydia. 

“I’m gonna die, and leave my dad all alone, and he’s going to drink himself to death when I’m gone!” Stiles paled and grew stiff, then he glared down at his food once again. “I’m not very hungry.” 

He stood from the table. His chair screeched over the floor, then Stiles fled the room. Derek watched after him and swallowed. Derek rarely felt like an asshole, but right now he did. 

They were both going to die, so what was the point of pretending that either of them had a chance? At least his family wouldn’t be alone once he was gone, but sheriff Stilinski had no one once Stiles was dead. 

* * *

_“Make sure they remember you,”_ Lydia had said before evaluation. Higher rating meant sponsors, sponsors could mean survival. 

But Derek’s first arrow missed. The bow was made of aluminium, which he had never used before, and the arrow too. It had a lightness to it that he wasn’t used to. By the second arrow, when he had adjusted for the weight, no one paid attention to him any more. 

It didn’t matter that he hit the bulls-eye. Derek had lost his moment to make them remember him. 

He glared up at the capitolists, eating and drinking like this was some damned vacation. He took the last arrow, took aim, and shot the apple out of that stupid grilled pig’s mouth. The capitolists turned to stare at him. Derek bowed and glared at them. 

“Thank you for your consideration,” he said, tossed the bow to the floor and left. 

Lydia had shouted at him, but then she had congratulated him because game maker Deucalion was sure to remember him now. 

Then they all sat in tense silence as they waited for the score. It took forever because everything went in order of the districts, and 12 was last. Stiles was fiddling with his fingers over his mouth nervously, his knee bouncing up and down. Every so often his knee would touch Derek’s, and it was distracting.

Finally, district eleven was done, and Bobby Finstock grinned into the camera. “Stiles Stilinski, a score of… eight.” 

Derek felt excited besides himself. Eight was a high score, and together with Stiles personality, he was sure to gain sponsors. 

“We can work with that,” Lydia said and squeezed Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles looked a little dazed. 

“And finally, from district 12,” Bobby Finstock said cheerfully. “Derek Hale, with a score of… eleven!” 

Even Peter looked shocked. Stiles turned to him and smiled tightly. 

“Congratulations,” he said. 

“I thought they hated me,” Derek said silently. 

“They must have liked your guts,” Stiles said. 

“To Derek Hale, the guy on fire!” Lydia said and help out her drink. 

* * *

“From District 12,” Bobby Finstock’s voice boomed out loudly, cheerfully — far too cheerfully to be real, “you know him as the guy on fire, Derek Hale!” 

At the call of his name, Derek got ushered out from behind the stage and into the spotlight. The crowd cheered, which made him nervous. This was worse than School Recital. This was all over the country. 

Derek sat down, and to his horror realized he had completely missed Finstocks’s first question. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I think someone is a little nervous,” said Finstock and the audience laughed. “I said, that was quite an entrance that you made at the tribute parade the other day. Do you want to tell us about it?” 

And then Derek got prompted into talking about and showing off his clothes, which felt very girlish, to him. Guys in district 12 didn’t fuss about what they wore or how they looked, but according to Lydia, his appearance was his biggest asset. And Derek appearing friendly and loveable was his best bet at sponsors, so Derek gritted his teeth together and swirled around, making flames erupt all around him to the audience applause. 

“I have one more question for you,” Finstock said once the audience had calmed down. It immediately set Derek on edge, because he knew it was going to be about Cora. “Your sister. We were all very moved, I think, when you volunteered for her at the reaping. Did she come to say goodbye to you?” 

Derek felt his face collapse. He couldn’t smile and pretend everything was alright when people were using his family-tragedy as their prime entertainment. 

“Yes, she did,” he finally grunted out. Bobby Finstock seemed thrilled at this discovery. 

“And what did you say to her, in the end?” 

Derek thought of Cora sobbing into him as Laura and his mother wept against each other. How Cora had pressed the Mockingjay pin into his hand, and how she had said it would protect him. 

“I told her that I would try to win,” Derek said tightly. “For her.” 

“Of course you did,” Finstock said dreamily. “And try you will.” 

Then he bounced up, and apparently, Derek was dismissed. “Ladies and gentlemen, from district 12, Derek Hale, the guy on fire!” 

The audience cheered as he left, but Derek only felt numb. Peter and Lydia waited for him backstage, standing by a screen they had observed the whole interview from. 

“Nice job, Derek,” Lydia said encouragingly. 

“Nice clothes,” Peter scoffed. He wound understand how odd it was, for someone from 12 like them. Derek ignored him and turned to watch Stiles’ interview. Stiles swaggered onto the stage like he belonged there, and shook hands with Finstock like it was an old friend of his. 

“So, Stiles, how do you find the capitol?” Finstock asked. Stiles chewed on his lip and looked out over the audience. 

“Well, it’s very different,” he said shyly. Based on what Derek knew of Stiles, shy wasn’t his usual state. Finstock immediately latched onto it. 

“Different? How is it different?” 

Stiles smiled. “Well, the showers are weird.” 

“The showers are different,” Finstock repeated and looked out over the crowd. “We have different showers.” 

Stiles nodded and waved to his neck. 

“Yes, do I — smell like roses to you?” The audience laughed and gasped, and Finstock leaned over and sniffed Stiles' neck. 

“Oh,” Finstock said, then gestured to himself. “What do I smell like?” 

Stiles leaned over, took a very deliberate sniff, then shook his head. 

“Woah, you definitely smell better than me.” The audience laughed. 

“Well I have been here longer,” said Finstock. 

“True,” said Stiles, and then they both leaned back in their seats like they had choreographed the entire thing. Stiles pulled up his leg, and a second afterwards did Finstock. Stiles beamed at the camera. 

_“He knows what he’s going.”_ Derek heard again in the back of his head. 

“So, tell me, Stiles, is there a special someone back home?” Finstock asked. Stiles laughed, uncertainly, and shook his head. 

“No, not really,” he said. Finstock gave him a disbelieving look. 

“No, I don’t believe that for a second. Look at that face, handsome boy like you! The young men and women of district 12 must go crazy after you.” 

Derek saw Stiles squirm in his seat and give the camera a bashful look before he shook his head. The camera did a zoom-in of him licking his lips. 

“Well, there is someone I have had a crush on forever,” Stiles said. Finstock exclaimed in triumph. “But I don’t think he actually recognized me until the reaping.” 

The audience awed. Derek did not miss the _he_ in there. Derek didn’t know anyone who was gay. No one in district 12 was, as far as he knew at least. But here was Stiles, saying he had a crush on a guy on national TV. 

That was a good strategy. The capitol loved queer characters on TV, and here was one in real life. Stiles would practically be drowning in sponsorships. 

“Well, I tell you what, Stiles,” said Finstock and wiped a tear from his eye like young love moved him places. “You go out there, and you win this thing, and when you get home, he’ll have to go out with you. Right folks?” 

“Thanks,” Stiles said sadly. “But I don’t think winning’s gonna help me at all.” 

“And why not?” Finstock asked, alarmed. He had probably never heard anything more ridiculous. It was true, a victor from one or two probably could come back and turn every guy gay, but in 12 it would be a little harder. Derek kind of felt sorry for him. 

Then Stiles looked at Finstock, sadly, and shook his head. “Because he came here with me.” 

The silence was practically touchable. Everyone looked shocked, then a collective gasp came out of the audience. 

Derek blinked. Stiles was talking about him? Stiles was — had a crush on _him?_

“Well, that’s bad luck,” said Finstock, shocked. 

“Yeah, it is,” Stiles said. 

“I wish you the best, Stiles,” Finstock said and shook Stiles’ hand. 

“Thank you,” said Stiles and left the stage. Derek stared at the screen, but he wasn’t paying attention to Finstock any more. 

Stiles had a crush on him. And he said so on TV. Derek didn’t know if he should be upset or impressed. Everyone acted like Derek was so brave for volunteering for his sister, but there was no way in hell that he would have said what Stiles said in front of so many people. 

Stiles joined them backstage, and Derek glanced at him. He looked nervous now, and the expression worsened when Derek pushed him into the wall. He just needed the truth, if what Stiles said was the truth or a strategy for sponsors. For some reason that mattered a lot at that moment. 

“You have a crush on me?” he demanded. Stiles stilled under him, and Lydia placed a hand on Derek’s arm. 

“This is good,” said Lydia. “He did you a favour.” 

Derek glanced away from Stiles wide, brown eyes at her. 

“Don’t I look… weak?” he asked. That’s how it felt, how everyone in district 12 would react to this. 

“You look desirable, which is exactly what we need,” said Lydia calmly. Derek released Stiles who slipped out of his grasp the moment he could. “We can sell the star-crossed lovers from District 12.” 

“We’re not star-crossed lovers,” Derek grumbled. 

“It’s a television show,” said Lydia sharply. “Being in love might get you both sponsors, which could save your damn life, remember?” 

Lydia looked between Derek and Stiles and put her nose in the air. “Now, both of you, to bed. You’re going to need your sleep for tomorrow.”

* * *

Derek couldn’t sleep. He wasn’t tired, for one. And he was dreading tomorrow, where he might die. That was a big reason. 

He wished he could speak to Laura, Cora or his mother. He just wanted… something. He wanted to tell them how much he loved them. How much he would miss them. How his heart was breaking at the thought of leaving them. 

How he didn’t want to die. 

With a sigh he rolled out of bed and started walking. He was a prisoner here, but free to walk around in the apartment, and it was bigger than anything, so there was plenty of space to explore. 

Derek first went to the kitchens and ate a few chocolate cakes, then he wandered into one of the living rooms. Stiles was sitting by the window, staring out into the never resting capitol. 

“Can’t sleep?” Derek asked. Stiles looked to him and shook his head. 

“No.” 

Derek walked over and sat down opposite him. They were so high up that he outside barely could make out what he thought were people. 

“I’m sorry I went after you,” he said. 

“I meant it as a compliment,” said Stiles. 

“I know.” Derek offered him one of the chocolate cakes he had stolen. “Was it real?” 

Stiles looked at him and blushed. Derek watched him as he looked away and stubbornly stared out of the window instead of answer. Somehow his silence had answered him, though. 

Derek felt something twist around in his stomach, something tiny that wasn’t dread, but rather excitement. Stiles had a crush on him. 

“Listen to them,” he said, changing the subject. Outside people were chanting, living their wildest life while they waited for kids to fight to the death in an arena.

“I just hope they don’t change me,” Stiles said. Derek frowned and watched him. Stiles hair had been spiked before on TV, but now it was soft and it was curling a bit around his face. 

“How would they change you?” he asked. Stiles shrugged. 

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Turn me into something I’m not. I just don’t wanna be another piece in their game, you know?”

Derek considered it. How many times hadn’t he thought about what would happen if people just… stopped watching. If no one cared. Would that make a difference, or would that just make things worse? 

“You mean you won’t kill anyone?” he asked. Stiles shrugged and leaned his head against the window. 

“No, I’m sure I would, just like everyone else when the time came,” he said. “I just keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don’t own me. If I’m gonna die, I wanna die like myself.” 

Stiles shook his head and turned his dark eyes back on Derek. “Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah,” Derek said and nodded. It did. He felt the same way. He didn’t want to die, but if he was going to, he wanted it to be on his conditions, not the game makers. 

They stared at each other for a moment, then Stiles stood up and stretched. His shirt rode up and showed pale skin on his stomach. Derek did his best not to pay attention to that. 

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” Stiles said. Before Derek could stop himself he was smiling. Tomorrow they’d be tossed into the arena, but at least he and Stiles would see each other before they both died. 

“See you tomorrow,” Derek said and watched Stiles slip out of the room. 

* * *

Peter was there to speak to him before he was raised to the arena, which surprised Derek. His uncle had barely spoken to him, and for some reason that he was there made Derek feel dizzy and sad. Peter looked at him, seriously, but it was so hard to figure out what Peter thought even on a good day. 

“They’ll put all kind of stuff right in front, right in the mouth of the Cornucopia,” Peter said. “There will even be a bow there; don’t go for it.” 

“Why not?” Derek asked. 

“It’s a bloodbath,” said Peter grimly. “They’re trying to pull you in. You could probably take a few, but your best bet is to find high ground, look for water. Water’s your new best friend.” 

Derek swallowed but nodded. 

“Does Stiles know this?” he asked. Peter didn’t say anything, just stared at him. 

“Do not step off the pedestal early, or they’ll blow you sky-high.” 

“I won’t,” said Derek. Peter hesitated, then hugged him. Derek hadn’t been hugged by Peter since he was four. 

“You can do this,” Peter whispered. Derek hugged him tightly and breathed in his scent. It wasn’t like home, but it had a familiarity to it. 

“Please take care of them,” he whispered. They both knew who he was talking about. Peter pulled away and watched him. 

“Good luck, nephew,” he said and left. When Peter disappeared, Isaac Lahey appeared to help him with his suit. It was a kind of light-weight mesh that would help regulate heat and cold, Derek knew. Isaac fiddled with Derek’s collar, then flashed the underside. There, pinned onto Derek’s chest, hidden from view was the Mockingjay pin. 

Derek swallowed. “Thank you.” 

“If I were allowed to bet, I’d bet on you,” said Isaac kindly. 

Derek stepped onto the pedestal and took a deep breath. The moment he stepped on it was like a current locked him into place, and then he slowly raised up. 

On top, the sun was blinding. Derek winced, tried to get his bearing. He knew the games happened in a controlled arena, so the light he saw wasn’t actually the sun, but it still felt reassuring to see something familiar even if it was pretend. 

Derek looked around at all the tributes. Some were readying themselves to run to the horn, while others looked like they were preparing to run to the trees. Derek didn’t even know where he should go. Peter had said to get the hell out of there, but there were weapons and food, and everything he would need. 

He glanced at Stiles, who shook his head and mouthed no. 

Derek turned his attention to the countdown and watched it drop from nine, eight, seven. 

He took a deep breath, then as the countdown reached zero he leaped off and started running as fast as he could towards the trees. He saw people reach for the Cornucopia, saw people get killed like it was nothing. Derek kept running, and reached a backpack that he grabbed in flight.

He reached the treeline, jumped over a branch and kept running. He barely stopped, even as he ran into Jackson Whittemore. They both fell to the ground and stared at each other, and before Derek had time to think Jackson was running again from him. Derek got back onto his feet and ran until his lungs burned and his legs screamed. 

He didn’t know what to do, but he didn’t want to die. Not today.

* * *

Derek made his way as far away from the Cornucopia as he could. If Peter said it was a bloodbath, it was. In his backpack he had found a bottle, but no water, so at the first chance he got he drank and filled it in the stream he found. 

He had rope and some other semi-useful stuff, but nothing that would aid him immediately. No food, no matches, no weapons other than a knife. He was better off as far away as he could be. 

Derek managed snares, partly as protection, and also to hunt. He caught a squirrel, and for some reason he thought of Stiles, proclaiming to Derek’s uncle that Derek was a great shot. 

He wondered if Stiles was alive. 

“Don’t,” Derek murmured to himself. Only one gets out. Don’t think about Stiles. 

As nightfall came, Derek had made himself as scarce as he could, and climbed a tree to sleep in for the night. He stared up into the sky as the dome light up with the faces of the fallen tributes. Derek watched them all, holding his breath. 

Nine, ten — no twelve. Derek released the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Stiles was alive. 

* * *

The next day, Derek continued away from the horn. He walked almost the entire day, and didn’t see a single soul. It would almost have been peaceful, if it wasn’t for the fact that Derek was scared out of his mind and the smallest twitch in the greenery scared him half to death. 

Then, the forest caught on fire around him. 

Derek ran, ducking from the fire, and barely escaped a tree that fell over him. He stumbled, then saw a fireball shoot towards him. 

He leaped out of the way, but fire hit him regardless. It burned his leg, and the pain was almost enough for him to pass out. The fear and adrenaline was the only thing that propelled him; that, and that he didn’t want to die. 

Derek ran, limping on his leg, then reached a riverbank. He jumped into the water and screamed as it touched his burn-wound. 

God, that hurt, but the cool water was also amazing. He fought the urge to cry and stared up into the artificial sky for a while. 

How was this even allowed? Didn’t people realize that when game makers shot flaming balls at the tributes, they were manipulating everything? Did no one care or notice that odds never were in your favour? 

He had almost gathered the will to get up when he heard it. Sounds of footfalls, and loud talking like they didn’t care who heard them. Derek froze and looked that way, and soon he could see Kali and Aiden from one, and Ennis and Matt from two. And Stiles. 

“Are you sure he went this way?” Aiden asked, and Stiles shrugged. 

“Yeah, I’m sure, that was his snare back there -” then Stiles caught sight of Derek and stopped talking. The others from district one and two followed his gaze and made whooping sounds of excitement. 

“There he is!” Kali cried and started running. Derek burst out of the water and ran, but his leg hurt so badly that he wouldn’t make it far. He needed a way out, so the moment he found one, he climbed the highest tree. 

It was a big old thing, with very few branches to help climbing. Derek had spent his entire life in the woods, so he managed, but the climb was difficult with his leg. 

He heard the others behind him. 

“Do it, Aiden,” Kali screamed and when Derek glanced down he saw Aiden try to climb after him. Aiden had a sword, which Derek thought was extremely over the top. Derek reached a branch he could sit by, and watched in satisfaction as Aiden failed several times to climb after him. 

“I’ll do it myself,” Kali snapped and grabbed an arrow. Derek pressed himself closer to the tree, prepared himself for pain, but nothing happened. The arrow swooshed past without reaching him. And the second one as well. 

Derek glanced down at them. 

“Maybe you should throw the sword,” he called down. 

“We should just wait him out,” said Stiles. Everyone, including Derek, glared at him. Stiles shrugged casually and peered up at Derek. “He’ll have to come down sometime. It’s that, or starve to death.” 

And weren’t that the truth. 

Derek used all the curses he’d ever known on Stiles in that moment. He hated the fact that Derek had cared yesterday if Stiles were alive or not. Hated it. 

The careers and Stiles started making camp underneath Derek’s tree, and Derek’s leg burned. 

* * *

The ointment was practically a miracle. What was even more miraculous was the fact it contained a sign from Peter. Peter, his uncle, cared. He was trying to help him. Derek rubbed it all against his burning leg and mouthed thank you to the sky. 

* * *

Derek wasn’t sure what woke him. It was early. The pain in his leg were almost completely gone. There was a sound from further away. 

He looked over, and saw Paige Krasikeva in the treetops. She was gesturing to something over his head, then pointed down where the careers and Stiles were sleeping. 

Derek glanced up, and saw the biggest wasp-nest he had ever seen in his entire life. Then he looked closer at it and realized they were no ordinary wasp. They had to have been engineered by the game makers just for the game. 

Paige gestured with her hand in a sawing motion, then pointed down again. Derek nodded to show he understood, then he carefully started to climb his way up to the nest. 

The sound was almost deafening when he came closer, but for a while the wasp didn’t seem to mind him. He reached out and used the saw-tooth part of his knife, and slowly started to work away at the branch. 

The more the branch started to wobble, the more agitated the wasps became. One stung Derek in the throat, and it hurt almost as bad as the fire had. 

He gritted his teeth and kept sawing, willing the branch to break. Two other stung his hand, and a fourth in his throat again, and then the branch snapped and the nest fell down. 

The moment the nest hit the ground the wasps were out of their hive and furious. The Careers’ were screaming loudly. Derek didn’t stop to look what happened, but immediately tried to climb down. 

He needed to get away. 

The climb was a haze, and when Derek finally reached the ground he just stumbled a few meters and saw Kali, lying dead and bloated by stings. 

Kali had a bow, didn’t she? 

Derek stumbled over and grabbed it, then jerked the quiver from her body. His stomach lurched. He felt sick, and the sight of Kali’s spinning body did not help at all. 

“Go!” someone shouted, then Stiles appeared next to him. He looked wild and shaky, and grabbed Derek’s arms. “Derek, go! What are you waiting for? Go!” 

Stiles pushed him and Derek ran. 

* * *

When Derek woke, he felt rested, but his body ached and he was starving. He was also lying under shelter by a fallen tree, and his wasp-stings had been bandaged with leaves. 

He sat up slowly and groaned. He did have a bow and arrows now. They were lying against the tree as if waiting for him. Whoever had fixed him up obviously hadn’t thought he was a threat, because they were easy to grab. 

Derek then heard a crack further away and saw Paige duck behind a tree. He frowned and stood up, grabbed his quiver and slung the bow over his shoulder before he went over to her. 

“Paige?” he asked. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

Paige’s dark head poked out from the tree, and she watched him sceptically. She was cute, in a way, and Derek found himself impressed that she had survived this long. 

“How long was I out?” he asked. Paige shrugged. 

“A few days,” she said. “I changed your leaves twice.” 

A few days. That was long. Longer, perhaps, then what Derek would have stayed alive on his own. 

“Thank you,” he said and meant it. Paige stepped out to meet him, apparently not scared of him any more. If she ever had been. “What happened while I was out?” 

“Girl from one and boy from 10,” she said. Derek found himself relaxing besides himself, and then that made him angry. 

“And the boy from my district?” he asked. The traitor. The guy who had run back and urged him to flee. Derek was confused, and confusion made him mad. 

“He’s alive,” said Paige and smirked. “I think he’d down by the river.” 

They watched each other for a moment, then Paige shifted on her feet. 

“So, is any of that true?” she asked. Derek frowned, and Paige smiled. “You and him?” 

Derek couldn’t help it, he laughed. Well, they certainly weren’t star-crossed lovers the way Lydia wanted them too. Stiles had been right; before the reaping Derek had barely noticed him. But Stiles’ crush on him were real, and he was a piece of home, and even though that Derek was going to bash his skull in the next time he saw him for siding with the Careers, he was also glad that Stiles weren’t dead. 

“Where’s Aiden and the others?” he asked instead of answering. 

“They’re down by the lake,” said Paige. “They have gathered all the supplies together in a pyramid.” 

Slowly, Derek started to smile. 

“Well, that sounds tempting,” he said. Paige watched him, then she grinned too. 

* * *

Paige had been serious when she said they’d made a pyramid. It looked like they had dug forth the landmines and arranged them in a pattern, and all the goodies from the horn were safely in the middle of it. Derek watched it, waiting for Paige to light the fire. He didn’t have to wait long before it started smoking like crazy. Aiden was the one who saw it, and he and a few others left, leaving only one to guard. 

For a second Derek wondered if he should shoot him. It would buy him more time to blow the pile up, but then again, if it wasn’t a killing shot he could call the others back. And Derek didn’t want to be a murderer. 

Anyway, before he had the chance to decide, Jackson Whittemore appeared, leaping past the landmines to the pile. He had obviously studied the technique because he reached the pile and grabbed something, then he ran away. The watch saw him and ran after him. 

This was Derek’s moment. Derek nocked an arrow and shot towards a bag of apples dangling from the pyramid. The arrow hit, but the bag didn’t break. 

Derek cursed and looked around. He needed to be closer. Carefully he snuck forth, out of the cover of the trees and knocked another arrow. He took a deep breath, then fired. 

The arrow struck true this time, and the apples bounced down along the pile. For a second he worried it wouldn’t work, but then the first apple hit the mine, which set off all the other mines too. 

The force of the explosives knocked Derek to his feet and deafened him in one ear. It was ringing, but somehow he knew it was all in his head. Then, he saw Aiden and the other’s return, and kill the guy they had left to watch — who, unfortunately for him, returned when he heard the bang. 

Aiden looked pissed. 

And then Aiden looked at Derek. 

Shit. 

He got back up and ran back into the woods, ran as fast as he could. He knew they were chasing him, but somehow he ended up leaving them behind. Derek was sweaty and panting when he finally stopped and looked around. 

The hearing on his left ear was gone. He heard a ringing, and that was it. He could still hear on the other, so he whistled the tune Paige had told him. The Mockingjays in the trees caught onto it and carried it across the woods, but no reply came from Paige. 

Derek frowned and started walking, making sure to whistle a few times and wait for a reply as he did. 

If his hearing hadn’t been fucked-up, maybe he would have heard her quicker. 

“Derek, help!” Paige screamed. Derek ran the way he thought he heard her and soon stumbled upon a trap with Paige under a net. He dashed over, tore the net away and helped her up from the ground. 

“You’re okay,” he said. Paige’s eyes grew wide over something behind him. Derek spun around on instinct, fired an arrow. 

It lodged deep into Ennis, but not before Ennis had cast a spear at them. 

Derek spun about just in time to see Paige pull the spear out of her stomach. Paige looked at him, and fell down again. 

Derek rushed over to her and pressed his hands over her wound, but it was already bleeding too much. Even if they got a sponsor _immediately_ Paige would die. 

“You’re okay,” he lied. “It’s okay, everything’s okay.” 

“Did you blow up the food?” Paige asked. Derek nodded. 

“Yeah, all of it.” 

“Good.” said Paige. She was staring up at him, her dark eyes misty. Derek wondered if this would be how Stiles looked as he died. “You have to win.” 

Derek gasped for breath, looked up at Ennis who he had just killed. Paige’s warm blood was seeping through his fingers. 

“Can you sing?” Paige asked. Derek swallowed and started singing. It was something Laura, Cora and he used to sing as kids. He barely remembered the words, but somehow they all fell perfectly out of his mouth now. 

He could feel the moment when Paige died. Her body grew heavy, her head lolled to the side. She was still warm, but Derek felt colder than he’d ever done before. 

He slowly placed her on the ground, then buttoned her jacket over the wound. This way, you could barely tell she was hurt. Except that she was dead. 

Derek shook and cried, and then he went and collected white flowers that he laid around her body. 

_“I just keep wishing I could think of a way to show them that they don’t own me.”_ Stiles had said that last night. These flowers were it for Derek. They were his way of saying _“you tried to make us kill each other, and we became friends instead.”_

Before he left Paige, he located the nearest camera and held its gaze. Slowly he raised his hand in tribute, the way district 12 had done for him when he volunteered. 

The _Wolf Games_ didn’t own him, and they didn’t own Paige. 

* * *

The next day, as Derek was refilling his water bottle and tried hard not to cry, an announcement boomed out through the forest. It was the first time he’d ever heard something like it, and he couldn’t help but hold hid breath, waiting for whatever new horror the game makers would release on him. 

To his surprise, it wasn’t anything like that. “Attention tributes. The regulations acquiring a single victor has been suspended. From now on, two victors may be crowned if both originate from the same district. This will be the only announcement.”

Derek blinked out blindly for a moment. Two victors, from the same district. That meant… 

“Stiles!” Derek collected his stuff and immediately started towards the river. Paige had said she thought he was there, so it was a good place to start. 

They could both go home. They could survive. 

Derek searched for hours. He found a puddle of blood, and broken twigs. He did his best to pretend he was tracking a wounded animal, and not a human. He also did his best to pretend he was actually going to find Stiles, and not some other wounded tribute. He also tried not to think about the fact that if he did find Stiles through this lead, it meant that Stiles was wounded. 

Night was falling, and Derek was about to give up, when suddenly something grabbed his leg. Derek jumped, and then he saw Stiles, hidden under leaves and bark. 

“Oh my god, Stiles!” Derek said and pulled him forth. Stiles cried out, and Derek realized he was badly wounded. His leg was like a gaping hole, and blood was gushing out. “What happened?!”

“A sword,” Stiles murmured through gritted teeth. He clung to Derek’s arm like he was scared to let go. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” 

“It’s gonna be fine,” said Derek. He had absolutely no reason to believe so, other than the fact that he wasn’t going to watch Paige and Stiles die within 12 hours. 

Derek tore his shirt and wrapped Stiles’ wound, then he hoisted him up and started dragging him with him. 

“You should leave me, Derek,” said Stiles. Derek shook his head. 

“No.” 

“Yes,” said Stiles, kindly. 

“I’m not gonna leave you, Stiles!” Derek screamed, and it was a little panicky, but damn, they could go home. They both could go home. 

Stiles stared at him, but fortunately shut his mouth long enough for Derek to find a cave they could hide in. 

“We need to get you some medicine,” Derek said. 

“I’m not gonna get many parachutes,” Stiles said dryly, but his body practically collapsed once Derek placed him down. 

“We’ll figure something out,” said Derek. 

“You know how I said I wouldn’t talk about my mom?” Stiles said. He stared up at the roof of the cave, and he was crying. Derek frowned.

“Yeah,” he said. “I shouldn’t have suggested it, it was — that was your mom.” 

“She thought I tried to kill her, in the end. The dementia made her confused. She didn’t think I was her son.” 

Derek took his hand and squeezed. “Hey, you’re going to be okay.” 

“If you win, can you take care of my dad?” Stiles asked. He turned his brown eyes at Derek, pleading. “He’s all alone.” 

“He has _you_ ,” Derek said sharply. “You’re going to survive, and _we_ are gonna go home.” 

“Okay,” Stiles mumbled. By his tone, Derek could tell he didn’t believe him. Derek frowned, then leaned down and kissed his cheek. 

“We’re gonna go home,” he said, harshly, daring Stiles to argue with him now. Stiles swallowed and watched him. 

“Why’d you do that for?” he asked. Derek shrugged as casually he could. 

“Because I want you to know what you’re missing if you fucking die on me now, Stiles,” Derek said. Stiles laughed, which Derek took as a good sign. 

“I don’t know, you kind of missed my mouth,” he said. Derek snorted. 

“Don’t push your luck,” he said, but he couldn’t help smiling. 

* * *

The parachute that arrived had another note in, this time from Lydia. 

‘You call that a kiss?’ 

Derek frowned and returned to the cave. Stiles was dosing in and out of consciousness, but as Derek opened the gift and found food Stiles opened his dark, feverish eyes to look at him. 

“What’s that, medicine?” he asked. Derek shook his head. 

“Soup.” 

Stiles tried to push up, but his body was too weak. Derek put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. 

“I’ll do it,” he said, then brought a spoon to Stiles’ cracked lips. Stiles swallowed it down and groaned. 

“You’re nice,” he said. Derek shrugged. 

“Well, you were nice to me once,” he said. 

Nice couldn’t even cover it. Derek’s father, dead, Derek in the sheriff’s station, barely holding himself together, Stiles who couldn’t have been more than 12 at the time, who stepped over and hugged him until Derek finally stopped crying. It was, without a doubt, the one moment Derek actually had noticed Stiles before the reaping.

Derek pushed Stiles curling hair away from his forehead. It was sticking to it, and his skin felt flushed. 

“You feel hot,” Derek said with a frown. 

“I remember when I first saw you,” Stiles said like he couldn’t hear him. “You came to pick up Cora from school, and you sang the Valley song to her because she fell and scrubbed her knee.

“I watched you every day as you came to pick her up after that. Every day.” 

Derek was silent. He didn’t remember that, but he probably had done it. Cora loved singing, and it had always been a great way to distract her. 

“Say something,” Stiles asked. 

“I’m not good at saying something,” Derek said. Stiles licked his lips. He was really starting to look feverish. 

“Then please lie down,” he asked. He sounded so hurt and broken that Derek slipped down next to him. For a moment neither of them moved, but then Stiles shifted and used his last reserves to settle on Derek’s chest. Derek carefully wrapped an arm around him in a hug. 

Derek felt Stiles’ fingers curl up into his shirt, holding onto him. 

“You’ll be good at this,” Stiles said tiredly. “Victoring.” 

And then, Stiles fell asleep. Derek stayed like that a long moment, and then he heard the sound of announcers again. 

“Attention, tributes,” the voice boomed but didn’t wake Stiles up, which spoke about how sick he actually was. “Commencing at sunrise, there will be a feast tomorrow at the Cornucopia. This will be no ordinary occasion, each of you need something desperately, and we plan to be generous hosts.” 

Derek stiffened. Stiles’ medicine. 

He glanced at Stiles, burning up against him. He was sweating, and his hair clung to his face. Whatever was going on, it was worse than just the wound. He had some kind of infection. Derek carefully slid out from under Stiles’ grasp and grabbed his bow. 

“I’ll be back with medicine,” he whispered to no one in particular. Stiles was passed out. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and kissed Stiles’ clammy face again. 

He didn’t know why, but somehow that felt like a comfort, and Stiles sighed. Derek hurried off into the night. 

* * *

At the horn at sunrise, Derek saw a table with four bags on it. Each had a number, clearly marked for whom it would help. He stared at the bag with number 12. He could almost taste it, the relief when Stiles got better and sat back up. 

The cost looked clear, but before Derek could make a break for it, he saw Jackson Whittemore appear in front of the trees. He ran as fast as he could and grabbed his own bag. Derek waited a moment after Jackson disappeared, then ran. 

He reached the bag that held Stiles’ medicine, and then Matt Daehler slammed into him. They rolled around on the ground, struggling to get the other off. Matt Daehler managed to pin Derek, only by the fact that he had knives. 

Matt pressed one knife against Derek’s cheek and grinned. 

“Where’s lover boy?” he asked. “Oh, I see, you were gonna help him. Well, isn’t that sweet, you guys make a cute couple! 

“Too bad you couldn’t help your little friend, what was her name again? Paige?” Matt hissed. Derek grunted and tried to kick him off, but he was pinned good. “Yeah, well, we killed her. And now we’re gonna kill you.” 

Then Matt got jerked away from Derek. Derek sat up and saw something Harris, the guy from Paige’s district. He hadn’t paid attention to him before, but now as Harris slammed Matt against the wall of the Cornucopia Derek realized he should have. The guy was lethal. 

“You killed her?” he screamed. 

“No,” screamed Matt. 

“You said her name,” Harris screamed. Matt screamed for Aiden. Then Derek heard a sickening crash, and Matt’s neck was twisted the wrong way. Harris glared down at Derek and pointed at him. 

“Just this once, twelve,” he said, then Harris ran. 

Adrian, Derek realized dully. His name was Adrian Harris. 

Derek ran as fast as he could back to the cave, clutching the precious medicine to his chest like it was a baby. He burst inside, dug through the bag’s content, and pulled forth the medicine. It looked like it needed to be injected. 

Derek hesitated, then stabbed it in Stiles' leg. Then he promptly passed out. 

* * *

When Derek woke, Stiles was looming over him. It looked like his fever had broken, which was good. It also looked like he was mad at Derek, which was less good. 

“What the hell is this?” Stiles demanded the moment he opened his eyes. Stiles waved the bag in Derek’s face. 

“I needed to get you medicine,” Derek said and pushed up. 

“Yeah, but it looked like you almost died getting it,” Stiles snapped and glared at him. “You’re lucky there was enough left here, so I could treat you too.” 

“You had a fever,” Derek said. Stiles watched him, then sighed. 

“You’re lucky that my leg is almost healed, or else I’d be more upset with you,” Stiles grumbled before he showed Derek. The wound that had been terrible before looked much better, 

“That’s amazing,” Derek said. And with that the realization hit him. “We could go home. We’re the only team left.” 

Stiles grew still and took in this, then he shakily smiled. 

“We could go home,” he said and laughed. They both reached out and hugged each other, both just so relieved over the fact that maybe they didn’t have to die. Maybe they could actually go home alive. 

When they pulled away Stiles tilted his head. 

“That reminds me, when you were out the canon went.” Derek rubbed his face and nodded. 

“Well, I saw Harris kill Matt. Jackson was running to the woods last I saw him. Didn’t see Aiden.” 

“If Aiden’s still alive he’s going to be by the horn,” said Stiles. “He wouldn’t go some place he didn’t know. And if it’s Jackson that’s left we’re in trouble. The guy’s so slimy he could slip past anything.” 

Derek laughed at that, then carefully stood. “Can you walk?” 

Stiles allowed Derek to pull him up, and slowly put pressure on his leg. Satisfied that it would hold, Stiles nodded and Derek collected his bow. 

“We need food,” said Derek as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Alright then,” said Stiles and held out his hand. “I’ll take the bow.” 

Derek blinked and frowned, and Stiles grinned mischievously. 

“I’m kidding,” he said. “I’ll look for berries.” 

* * *

The cannon startled Derek from his hunt, and for one terrible moment he thought that Stiles died. His feet were running before he had the chance to react, and he was screaming Stiles’ name. He didn’t care if someone other than Stiles heard him, and at that moment he didn’t care if he died from carelessness, either. 

Then his panicked screams came to a halt when Stiles burst forth from the shrubbery. They clung to each other, both panting. 

“I thought — you scared the crap out of me!” Derek shouted at him. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles screamed back, equally frightened. “I was just picking berries.”

Then Stiles held out his hand and Derek’s eyes widened. He slapped the berries out of Stiles’ grasp as quickly as he could. 

“That’s nightlock, Stiles!” he screamed. “You’d be dead in a minute!” 

Stiles paled, but clung to Derek’s arm. 

“I didn’t know that,” he said shakily. Derek hugged him again, tightly. 

Once they both were a little calmer they pulled apart and stared walking back to where Stiles had left his jacket and a pile of berries. A few meters further away laid Jackson Whittemore, dead. 

“I didn’t even know he was following me,” said Stiles. “Like I said, slimy.” 

“It’s not funny,” said Derek, even though it kind of was. “So, that either leaves Harris or Aiden.” 

“With our luck it’s Aiden,” Stiles said gloomily. It ought to mean something, the fact that Stiles could make Derek laugh in a life and death situation. Maybe it meant that Derek was a bad person. But for a moment, Derek didn’t care. He leaned down and pocketed some berries. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked. 

“Maybe Aiden likes berries too,” Derek said. Stiles scoffed and grabbed his shirt, then they started towards the Cornucopia. 

* * *

The water was running out, fast. Derek figured that the game makers were draining the water sources, trying to lead them to the lake, as if that wasn’t where they were heading already. 

They were almost there when they heard something from the woods. Derek looked over, and saw Aiden come running. At first, he thought Aiden was attacking, but then he realized that Aiden was fleeing something. 

Aiden whooshed past them, and Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm. 

“Run,” Stiles screamed. “Run!” 

What bounded after Aiden was a pack of mutated wolves. They ran first on four legs, then suddenly they would rise and run like humans. Derek and Stiles ran towards the horn. Derek reached it first, and Stiles a second after. Stiles’ gave him a boost, and then Derek twisted and pulled Stiles up. Before they were safe, however, one of the wolves reached the horn and locked its jaws around Stiles’ leg. 

Stiles screamed and almost got jerked out of Derek’s hold, but somehow Derek managed to pull him up. 

Stiles went down. The bite was bad, and Derek needed to bind it quickly, or Stiles would bleed out just as Paige had. He pulled one of his last arrows out of the quiver and pulled forth his rope. As quickly as he could, he bound the rope around Stiles leg, then used the arrow to tighten and stop the blood flow. 

Stiles screamed, but Derek kept going until the blood actually slowed. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured all the while. 

“Can they climb it?” Aiden screamed. That was enough for Derek to remember anything other than Stiles’ injuries, and he looked down at the ground where the mutated wolves were running around, savagely biting at each other. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. Stiles screamed again. Derek spun around to see Aiden with Stiles in a headlock, choking him. Derek pulled and docked an arrow, but Aiden was in full body armour. It would protect against any arrow Derek shot. The only spot free for attack was his head, and if Derek shot Aiden would take Stiles with him down to the mutts. 

“I can still do this,” Aiden said, brokenly. “One more kill. Bring pride to my district.” 

Derek growled. Stiles looked like he was struggling for air. He was clutching at Aiden’s grip, and… pointing at Aiden’s uncovered hand. 

Stiles was a fucking genius! 

Derek shot Aiden’s hand, and Stiles pushed back. Aiden fell off the horn, and Derek dived to catch Stiles, to make sure he didn’t fall too. 

Aiden screamed, and the mutts howled. Stiles clung to Derek like it was the only thing keeping him up. Maybe it was. The bite had been bad, and Stiles was already looking pale again. 

_‘Die already,’_ Derek thought, but the canon didn’t sound. Aiden kept screaming, and Derek realized that the body armour was keeping him alive now. The sounds were awful. 

First, they lived on hope, but soon it became clear that Aiden wasn’t going to die on his own. 

“Please, Derek,” Stiles mumbled and his speech was slurred. “Can’t you do something?” 

Derek released Stiles and walked over to peer down the edge. Aiden was in tatters, and Derek immediately wished he hadn’t looked. He took his second to last arrow, and shot Aiden in the head. 

The canon rang. 

Derek breathed out a sigh of relief. They were victors. They had won. 

He turned back at Stiles and helped him stand. Together they clutched to each other, kept each other up. Stiles was crying, and Derek was pretty sure he was, too. 

“Attention, tributes,” the announcer boomed out. “There’s been a slight rule change. The previous revision allowing for two victors from the same district have been revoked. Only one victor may be crowned.

“Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favour.” 

Derek and Stiles pulled away from each other and just stared at each other. Derek couldn’t believe it. This was — the games had always been a bag of hypocritical bullshit, but this? This was taking it too far. 

Stiles wobbled from standing on his own and raised his chin. 

“Go ahead,” he said gently. “One of us should go home. One of us has to die, they have to have their victor.” 

And Derek understood what he meant. This was Stiles’ way of showing the game makers that they didn’t own him. He wouldn’t try and kill Derek. He was going to die on his own terms. 

And Derek found that unsatisfactory. 

“No,” he said and dropped his bow. It clanged against the metal of the cornucopia. He pulled forth the berries he had stashed before. “They don’t. 

“Why should they?” He handed half the berries over to Stiles who stared at them. Stiles shook his head. 

“No, Derek, please,” he begged. Derek shook his head, placed a hand on Stiles’ cheek and forced him to look him in the eyes. 

“Trust me,” he said. Stiles dark amber eyes watered up, but they also turned determined. 

“Together?” he asked. 

“Together,” Derek agreed. 

“Okay,” Stiles said shakily. “One.” 

“Two,” said Derek. 

“Three.” said Stiles. Together they raised the berries to their lips. Derek had time to think that he was glad he got to be here with Stiles. To prove that the _Wolf Games_ didn’t own them. 

“Stop, stop!” the announcer screamed over the speakers. Hesitantly Derek and Stiles slowed their hands. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners of the 74th annual _Wolf Games_!” 

Derek and Stiles blinked at each other, then Stiles laughed, surprised and Derek hugged him. 

They were going home. 

* * *

Once the hovercraft picked them up, Derek and Stiles got separated, and then for days, Derek wasn’t allowed to see him. 

“They’re going to broadcast your reunion live,” Lydia explained to him and petted his shoulder. “Stiles is alright.” 

That calmed him down, but the next words out of her mouth did not. 

“They are not happy with you.” 

“Why, because I didn’t die?” he asked drily. He wasn’t happy with them either. 

“Because you showed them up.” Lydia said. Even Peter looked at him like this was serious, so Derek kept the sarcastic reply at bay. “They don’t take these things lightly.” 

“When they ask,” Peter said stiffly. “You say you couldn’t help yourself.” 

Derek frowned. Help what? 

Lydia squeezed his arm. 

“You’re so in love with this boy that the thought of not being with him was unthinkable. You’d rather die than not be with him. You understand?” 

Derek glanced at Peter, but he looked more serious than Derek had ever seen him. 

“Okay,” he nodded. Lydia squeezed him tightly, then released. 

* * *

During the interview with Finstock, Derek could barely focus. Partly it was the ominous message Lydia and Peter had given him, but it was also the first time he got to see Stiles again, and he had difficulty taking his eyes off him. Luckily for Derek, Stiles was managing most of the interview, and Derek only had to fill in a few times. 

Then the topic reached Stiles’ leg. 

“Your leg?” Derek frowned, then grabbed Stiles’ trouser leg and pulled it up. The motion showed what was now Stiles’ new leg — plastic, fake. The bastards had amputated Stiles’ leg. “Oh no.” 

“Derek, you didn’t know?” Finstock asked. Derek shook his head and looked at Stiles’ face. 

“Is it because I used the tourniquet?” he asked. Stiles’ eyes didn’t hold any anger when he replied, however. 

“Yes.” 

Derek swallowed. 

“You saved me,” Stiles said, gently. 

“We saved each other,” Derek said, and the audience awed. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments if you enjoyed this! I had really fun, and I might do the second book/movie, too!


End file.
